Problematic Summer Romance (Not in Love, #2)(52)

“But?”

“The simplest explanation is that he’s protective, and thinks that chatting with some guy I’ve only just met is putting myself in danger.” I close my eyes, feeling suddenly exhausted, weighed down by the sheer stupidity of the stunt I’m pulling. I should try harder to fall for someone else. “I’m the one who’s pining from afar, not him.”

The German nods slowly, as if considering the situation from all angles. I bet he’s a great student. His transcripts must be a wet dream. “As someone with long-term expertise in pining from afar, I’m happy to play the pawn in your game.”

“She made you work for it, huh?” I glance at the girl, who’s still on the phone. I get the impression that if she asked him to tattoo whipped on his forehead, his only question would be: What font?

She’d get him to agree to papyrus, too.

“It was worth it,” he simply says.

“She won’t be mad that you’re helping me?” I tap my chin, thoughtful. “Maybe I can make Conor believe that we’re having a threesome.”

His small smile is hard to interpret. “Oh, she’ll love this. Give me your phone.”

“What?”

“Get your phone out and give it to me.”

“Why—oh, yeah. That’s genius.” I slowly slide the cell out of my pocket and hold it out to him. Watch him type with a small smile. “Put in a fake number. I’m never going to use it.”

“Actually, I’m giving you my girlfriend’s.”

“Why?”

“Because when she’s done talking with her mom, I’m going to tell her about you, and I already know that she’ll want updates on how things turn out.”

I accept my phone back. “I doubt anything will come of it.”

“We’ll see.” He’s just rooting for me, but his smile does look flirty, and I’m grateful for it.

“Thanks again.” I wave goodbye at him and push away from the wall. When I navigate to my contacts, I find a new name: Scarlett.





Chapter 21




I pass the bar on my way back to the table. Conor is downing a glass of something clear that looks like water, but could probably disinfect an entire sewage system. With his head tipped back, I expect him not to notice me walking by.

When his arm snatches out to block my path, I gasp. “What—?”

His forearm presses horizontally against my abdomen. One hand locks around the curve of my waist, the grip not painful, but too tight for me to wiggle free. I try to walk, but I’m stuck in place.

“What are you doing, Maya?” We face opposite ways. With him leaning on the stool, his lips are level with my ear.

“I am attempting to go back to the table.”

“You know what I’m referring to.”

I pause. My heartbeat speeds up. Grows louder. “Do I?”

“I just saw you exchange numbers with some horny twenty-year-old who thinks Axe body spray is the epitome of class and uses dirty socks instead of condoms.”

I have to nip the inside of my cheek to avoid laughing at his assessment. Poor German. “And?”

“And.”

I slow-blink, hoping to look confused. Negronis, it appears, do wonders for my acting chops. “I don’t know what you are—”

“Not this fucking week, Maya.”

“Why? Are you under the impression that Eli would care?” I shift in his arms, just enough to meet his eyes. His grip adjusts, but doesn’t relax. “I guess we could ask my brother. See if he would mind me hooking up with a nice boy I just met. But I know he wouldn’t.”

“Maya.”

“What about you, Conor? Would you care?”

His nostrils flare. I wait for him to glance away and let my lips curl into a small smile when he doesn’t.

“Honestly,” I say quietly, “I thought you’d be happy.”

“About you behaving unsafely?”

“About me directing my focus to someone who’s age-appropriate.”

His eyelids flutter closed. When he opens them again, his voice is little more than a rough whisper. “I want you to delete that number.”

I let my mouth fall open. “You do? I’ll get right to it, then.”

“I’m serious.”

“Are you? Because when an adult man who has adamantly refused to have a single conversation with me for the past ten months thinks he can tell me what to do with my time, with my body, or with my phone…” His hold on me hardens, and my heart skips. A gust of euphoria blows through me, and this time, I don’t bother holding back my laughter. “Conor, you have to be joking.”

“Meeting up with someone you know nothing about is dangerous. Unless you got a picture of his ID, you cannot be sure—”

“Okay, yeah. Very realistic. Background checks are totally something I run every time I want to hook up with someone.”

His eyes burn a hole into me, as if trying to physically extract information on what I plan to do with the guy’s number.

“The thing is,” I say, hoping to sound more conciliatory than I feel, “I’m here. And you’re here. But it’s not the same thing at all, is it? You’re all cozy, hanging out with your ex. You get to have fun, but I—”